Wrench
by Enkidu07
Summary: Dean hurts his knee on a hunt. He says he's fine. Sam's not so sure. So hospital it is.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Wrench  
**Author**: Enkidu07  
**Disclaimer**: Sadly, these characters do not belong to me.  
**A/N**: Double Drabble written especially for the endlessly patient **Supernoodle**. Because she makes me LLOL on a surprisingly regular basis.

--

As the forest whirls sickly around him, Dean squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to breathe. The acrid scent of burnt remains infiltrates his awareness.

Sam's paw wraps his tricep, taking some of his weight.

After a minute Sam quietly asks, "Can you make it back to the car?"

Dean tentatively shifts to his right and electricity shoots up his thigh. Both knees buckle.

Once the nausea passes, Dean clears his throat and glances up.

Without a word, Sam shifts around and half-carries him to the Impala, depositing him gracefully in the passenger seat.

Even Sam's careful prods cause pain to worm its way through Dean's knee. He grips the doorframe and holds still as long as he can before involuntarily grabbing at Sam's hands.

"I'm almost done. Stay still." Sam's attention is on Dean's knee. Dean's attention is on Sam.

A tender spot has Dean gasping forward. A whimper presses for release.

"Okay, okay." Dean relaxes as Sam's hands slide down his calf, away from his knee.

"We'll try ice. If it's still this bad tomorrow, we'll hit the ER."

Dean doesn't argue, just slumps against the seat. He lets Sam carefully maneuver his legs into the car.

--

end.

--

Anyone want to take a stab at chapter 2? It seems as if hurty!Dean goodness is about to commence and I reached my word limit... let me know if you do and I will post a chapter 2 directing readers your way!


	2. Interim

**A/N**: My grand plan backfired. So, this is a totally indulgent story. Except it uses the challenge word: 'drip'... so therein lies purpose.

--

Dean initially jerks away from the ice. Sam catches his ankle and gives him a warning look. "Leave it."

Dean hums, eyes squinty and focused far away. After a minute, he swallows and his eyes flicker to Sam. "I didn't hear a pop. It'll be fine."

"We'll see." Sam is noncommittal.

Trapped in bed, Dean's fatigue ambushes him.

When the ice starts to drip, Sam takes it away. The knee is visibly swollen and starting to bruise.

Dean shifts in his sleep and Sam watches until he settles.

Then he finds the address for the ER, just in case.


	3. ER

A/N: For sidjack. Because she said she would if I would. And she did. And for supernoodle because you started this madness.

--

They hit the ER about an hour after midnight. The swelling isn't abating and Sam had been rudely awakened when a late night trip to the bathroom left Dean doing controlled breathing on the floor in front of his bed.

Night at the ER is better anyway. Less staff, less people likely to recognize them, and fewer patients in the waiting room.

Lines dig deep around Dean's mouth and eyes, even as he reclines, seemingly asleep. Sam checks them in and then nudges him over, clipboard in hand, sinking into the seat beside him. "How're you doing, man?"

Dean doesn't move and Sam digs an elbow in, irritation spiking. "Dean?"

Dean shifts over an inch, doesn't crack. Silent treatment it is.

Sam sighs, rubs exhaustion from his eyes, and gets to work on the forms.

--

Late night TV sucks. The busy noises from the ER grow muted as the hour wears on, lulling Sam into a dazed reverie. Dean's head inches toward his chest, tension easing slightly as he slips into a doze.

Sam starts when a curt voice chirps their alias for the third time. He stumbles up, "Here. We're here." He pokes at Dean, shuffling him up, freezing when Dean's breath stutters and he clenches onto Sam's arm halfway to his feet. Sam looks back at the nurse, "It's his knee. Maybe a wheelchair?"

Dean's hand tightens even more, a silent expression of his displeasure. Sam winces, feeling bruises already, and squeezes back hard with reflexive revenge.

--

The nurse is efficient, stowing them in another too brightly lit room, and then skirting out quickly. She pokes her head back in to command that Dean change into the johnny on the table.

With a side glare Sam's way; Dean hikes himself up from the chair until he is leaning against the exam table. "You gonna watch the show?" He asks, eyebrows raised, with his hand hovering over his belt buckle.

"Don't be a tease, Dean," Sam snaps back. Still, he moves closer in case Dean overbalances from his unsteady position.

Sam can see Dean's jeans pull tight over his swollen knee and grimaces when Dean hesitates to push them off. He puts a steadying hand forward and Dean flaps at him. Sam holds his hands up in a placating manner and then after a beat, moves forward again to help tug the material carefully away. Dean grips at Sam's shoulder, finally taking some support as Sam pulls his jeans off his injured leg. Then he boosts himself up onto the table before he allows Sam to pull them all the way off.

"That'll be all for now, Jeeves," Dean quips as he closes his eyes against the light. Sam can feel the tension radiating off him and just stops himself from patting Dean's shoulder. He likes his hand right where it is and isn't ready to lose it.

--

Two and a half hours later, Sam is thoroughly reacquainted with pre-dawn infomercials. After a harrowing exam, Dean had been carted off for an MRI courtesy of the insurance of Jamison P. Edwards. Over two hours ago. And now Sam knows more than he ever really needs to about the new and improved salad shooter. And he could really go for a salad.

When the next show starts and Sam is strangely intrigued by the Get-Totally-Ripped-Through-Zumba dancers, Dean finally makes an appearance.

He has made friends with his wheelchair, slumped low, a cloth brace secured around his leg, with a muzzy grin on his face. "Hey! Sam!" He greets, his eyes lighting up.

"Hey. You alright?"

The nurse locks Dean's wheel and then says, "The doctor will be out in a minute. She has a prescription for you and can fill you in."

Sam starts to thank her when Dean interrupts with, "Sam! This is Berta. Berta. It's Berta. Nurse Berta. Burrrrrta." By the end, Dean's just rolling the syllables around on his tongue.

Sam gives Berta an embarrassed grin and a half wave as she disappears back into the ER.

When Sam turns back he sees that the third Zumba dancer from the left has already captured Dean's attention. Not that Sam had been watching her. He gives her one last glance and then scans Dean. He's still in one piece so Sam just lets him sit while they wait for the doctor.

--

Dawn light is just slipping through the windows when the doctor bustles into the waiting. She glances at Dean and then to Sam. "Please, join me in my office."

"Okay, Mr. Edwards. Your brother did quite a number on his knee. But, as far as we can tell, nothing is broken and it doesn't look like he tore anything. For the next couple of days I suggest strict rest, ice, and elevation."

Sam nods, familiar with the common treatment of sprains and strains.

"He should keep the brace on as much as possible and once the swelling goes down we can see if we need to explore other options. Either way, he will likely require some therapy to regain integrity in the joint. I have written a prescription for some anti-inflammatories and some painkillers. Make sure he takes both of them."

Sam listens attentively, only slightly distracted by his brother grinning in the seat beside him.

The doctor finally cracks, grinning back at Dean. "We have given him a light sedative and a shot of painkillers to help him relax during the exam. He should sleep it off once you get home but just keep an eye on him for a couple of hours."

--

Post hospital, Dean sleeps like the dead, only rousing for Sam to force medicine into him. He's less cooperative on staying awake for food but Sam's worried that rugged pills on an empty stomach are a recipe for disaster. So he gets inventive with the selection. And, if Dean isn't getting a balanced diet on smoothies and crackers, at least his isn't throwing it back up.

To Sam's relief, Dean heals up more quickly than Sam anticipates, despite his inability to actually stay in bed for more than an hour or two at a time after that first day.

Dean forgoes crutches in lieu of motel furniture. Sam bites his tongue when he catches Dean dragging the pole lamp to the bathroom and back, cord dragging, in order to have something to put his weight on. Sam glances at the crutches when Dean looks at him, getting his point across without committing himself to words. Dean feigns oblivion.

--

"Chop, chop, Sammy, let's move." Dean's ready to split after 3 days.

"Dean. You can't drive."

The oblivion is back.

"Dean."

"Sam, I'm fine. I'm practically walking. Let's go, we're burnin' daylight."

"Let me see your knee."

"No."

"Let me see it or I'm not getting in the car." An ultimatum's not going to work with Dean. Sam sees the walls slamming down already and he changes tactics. "Dean, if you crash because your knee's too weak to hit the brake, it's my ass that's going down in the fiery collision. Just let me see." Was that a hint of wheedling in Sam voice? Why, yes. Yes it was.

Dean harrumphs his displeasure but falls into the rickety chair. "Fine. Feel me up, slimeball."

It's a point in Dean's favor that his jeans can actually be pulled up over the joint. It's still tender and the hues have faded to a greenish gray, but it looks good. "Did you take your meds?"

Dean rolls his eyes, "Yes, mom."

"The pain pills too? The doc says they'll keep it loose and it'll heal faster."

"Yes. The pain meds too," Dean indulges.

"When?"

"Like, 10 minutes ago. I was right there," Dean points haphazardly.

"Hm. Then you definitely can't drive, you stoner." Sam snatches the keys from his brother and slaps him on the leg. "Come on, you can ride shotgun and as soon as the meds kick in you can wax poetic about Berta."

"I'm gonna wax you," Dean grumbles as he eases into the sunshine.


End file.
